a quartet
by xoVanilla-Bean
Summary: Sometimes, it's the background music that can make all the difference. — CloudTifa
1. look

a . n ////  
a teeny [_as in humongous. _for me anyway] project for myself, inspired by a man with the name of wayne newton. and to just write something again. i hope it's kind of cute.  
oh, and this will be four small parts, in case anyone didn't know what a quartet was. ;)

**A QUARTET. **

**L**—is for the way you** l**_ook_ at me.

* * *

It all started from the window.

In his mom's kitchen, whenever he would do the dishes, he'd glance out the window and into the crisp, blues skies outside. He liked to think of it as his own little television, to keep the boredom away as he scrubbed the plates glassy and wet.

Sometimes, there would be a sparrow flitting past, chirping out its own melody of the day. Other times it would be a hummingbird, wings vibrating into two thin, blurry lines.

There would be clouds and people, walking around and conversing. The sun would make shadows grow toward the east, dusky and dim. There would be boys his age, who he should be playing with, punching and kicking with sticks, playing knight for the tiny girl in the blue dress.

She had ultra long, shiny hair, missing teeth, and a lot of smiles.

She would never ask the boys to play. They would usually come to her door, swearing that they heard cries from the damsel in distress.

She would go out and play with them anyway, with a giggle and rosy cheeks.

She was a girl, but she didn't act like one. She'd get scrapes and cuts, bruises and gashes, gaining the fawns and attention from the concerned little boys. He couldn't deny that he fell into the category, too, except the concern would stay trapped in the cage of his mind.

He'd watch her steal a stick from the boy whose hair she always ruffled. She'd wag it around, teasingly, tauntingly, and then run away from him with squeals when he pounced.

And days would pass. He would be inside, looking out windows, while they were outside, finding adventure, the girl's laugh burning a pathway to his eardrums.

He would find himself wanting to fill her with his attention, wanting her to fill him with the exuberance that dripped from her cheeks. The wants fogged up the windows to the outside, the atmosphere in his house and room.

So, all this wanting led him to unlock his front door. It led him to turn the knob, to open it. It led him to step out into the realm of looking and running and _fun._

But as he stepped onto the wooden porch, his grand entrance to the group of kids in the middle of the dirt road acquired him…well, looks.

Or, more accurately, _a_ look.

Because the boys' looks could have been a glare, something that said, 'this is our territory _go away.'_

But the girl had something different. Her eyes were unnatural. They weren't the coffee brown he had seen from the windows inside. They were red. A happy, blushing, earthy red. And in them, she already held curiosity, inquiries, and a friendly openness.

It was a look that invited him in, and, perhaps scared of closing it forever, he ran back inside to his house. He closed the door and was safe.

But when the breezes turned cold and when the moon came up, he opened the door again, and took a seat on the well.

He gazed at the glittering stars and promised himself that he would stay tomorrow, and he wouldn't run away from his maybe-faults.

He leaned his head back against the bricks on the surface of the well. He counted the craters on the moon, saw a mermaid waving to him from her invisible sea, watched the stars surround her like a school of fish.

And then he took in a glowing red. He flinched, and he lost his balance. He tumbled down the well and landed in a heap at the bottom.

He heard a titter, and took in black tap shoes in front of his eyes. They had reflecting moonshine, and he followed the trail to her forever rosy cheeks.

"Hi," she said. She leaned over and gave him a hand. He swallowed and took it, standing up. He looked at her face a while and he looked away, forgetting the lines so properly calculated inside of his mind. She tilted her head, positioning it in his field of vision again. He took a step back, and she took a step forward.

"You don't talk much, do you?" She smiled, big and toothless. He frowned slightly.

"Guess not," he said. But it wasn't what he wanted.

She picked up a stick, brandished it in the air. Then she poked him in the face, tensing up and hopping away.

He didn't follow her, standing still and rubbing his face.

She turned around and looked back at him, brows furrowing in dismay. "Aren't you going to chase me?"

"No," he said, uncertain.

She placed her hands on her hips. "Why not?"

He blinked a few times. The frown he had kept from before deepened. "Because I can't keep up."

She glanced down, and fiddled with the stick in her hands. "Oh."

She turned around and threw the stick toward the pasture, by the fence of a house.

"Then I'm going back home," she said. She started to walk to a house with lighted windows and a looming figure, watching them.

He breathed in, devastation filling him up, like steam and something burning . "Wait!"

He grabbed her arm, and she faced him. He let go quickly, but his eyes held hers in a look that contained the words he forgot.

She stared back, first in confusion, and then in innocent understanding. He blinked, and she blinked, and turned back to her house.

The next day, he watched them from his wooden porch.

She poked the boys with another wimpy twig. He heard her tell them that she didn't want to be chased anymore.

Then she looked at him, and he looked right back.

--


	2. only

**O**—is for the only **o**_ne_ I see.

* * *

The Gold Saucer wasn't that fun, especially with the lurking taste of silver hair, with the haunting music and _ghosts_ lurking in the artificial shadows.

But then the knock at the door saves him from vandalizing the room, from stalking out of the 'hotel' and finding a more suitable place to sleep.

He doesn't really think about who could be at the door, not until he opens it, and all of a sudden he's beyond surprised because—

It's Aerith, in her striking pink _shock_ and golden loop earrings. She's smiling confidence, and she's so beautiful standing amidst all the horror.

And then he's tripping and slipping, stuttering like an idiot because somewhere deep down, she wasn't in his hidden expectations at all.

She asks him—or maybe she's _telling_ him—to go on a date with her, walk around, loosen up and have fun. How long has it been since he's had fun?

But he feels dubious about this. There's a nasty silver lining to letting go and being carefree with her, and her green eyes don't help his thought process much. It reminds him of something...else.

He relents though, and walks down the hallways with her, her hands wrapped around one of his arms in case he changes his mind.

He won't, he can't. But if he stares into her eyes for too long, he might break.

--

He remembers the Battle Arena and how he showed off, just a _little_, against the men whose muscles increased after each win. He remembers being crowned the champion, getting a picture with his 'girlfriend' as the photographer called her, him not gaining the nerve to correct him. And her, just giggling, and shaking her head, as if it was a silly misunderstanding.

And then he remembers the chocobo races, Aerith putting her bet down for the pink one, not examining the stats and going for color instead.

Cloud bet on the deep burgundy colored chocobo, calculating the strategy and making his forehead wrinkle into pensive thoughts.

It didn't really matter in the long run; Aerith won her bet, doubled her money, and stuck her tongue out in his face. He shook his head at her antics and a light smile swiveled onto his face.

Aerith gasped and pointed, poking his cheek and grinning. He fanned her hand away, and in mid-laugh he had a glimpse of a buried memory in his mind. The poke felt like a sticky sword and he didn't know why.

--

They went to watch a play, but the wizard had conveniently picked them from the audience to make fools of themselves.

Of course, looking back on it, it wasn't as bad as it could've been. The fabric of the armor could have been less itchy, and he could have _not_ stumbled more than a dozen times.

But for those few moments, it was comforting being a knight in a different place, and the savior of a princess instead of the world. And Aerith wasn't going to sacrifice herself, she wasn't a Cetra, and she was _definitely_ going to laugh a number of times more.

Yet, through all of the pleasant things he had felt, there was an immense emotion welling up inside that reminded him of something breaking. Like he was breaking some sort of promise.

--

The gondola was too small.

Actually, it was the perfect size. But for a guy like Cloud, his space bubble was on the verge of popping.

Aerith didn't seem to notice any of Cloud's fidgeting or the space of the gondola. Her smiles settled him down, and, like the angel demeanor she carried, she was able to soothe his bouncing knee and stop his teeth from biting his cheek.

The throbbing feeling kept persisting, though, and it was gnawing on his spine whenever he laughed, and when he was able to shrug it away, it found a way to crawl back up his leg and pinch-pinch _pinch_.

Then he saw a red sparkle out of the window. Then another, and another, again and again and again.

They were little red flashes, signaling his mind to take heed, but he had no idea of what.

He heard a large _pop_, and then Aerith going, "Oh, Cloud! Look how beautiful they are!"

The star bursts of light mesmerized him, and he couldn't look away. Beautiful, yes. Gorgeous, they were.

But the ridiculous throbbing was poking and poking; the rich scarlet bundle of fireworks were irises, surrounding the black pupil of the night sky, expanding and fading, the pupil dilating, becoming a nebula, an explosion, a beaming mass of—

The sparkles jumped, barricading the yellow, cratered sphere of the moon like a school of fish, inflamed, glittering fish that had nowhere to go except to surround and care for and love—

He closed his eyes, rubbing them with his gloved hand, taking in an extensive breath. But the spiral of red crept into the outer edges of his eyelid, and his heart was thud-thud-thudding, the breath amounting to nothing more than a mere stir of gondola air.

Aerith was still hooked upon the shimmering night sky, and she didn't register the slight mental panic he was breathing away. Her eyes didn't leave the view until it was over. Cloud, however, kept his eyes on the floor.

"Weren't they amazing, Cloud?" she asked, eyes wide and wondrous.

He answered, voice shaggy, "Stunning."

Then, the thought of Tifa entered his mind, and the itches, the undeniable, aggravating sensations, they wore away.

_Just a little_.


	3. very

**V**—is for the **v**_ery_, **v**_ery_ extraordinary.

* * *

The reception of the cure for Geostigma wasn't surprising; people were overjoyed by the anomaly of the healing, blessed rains falling from the heavens, washing away the stagnant air of death that had overcome Edge long ago.

And now? There was going to be a ball, at the city hall.

And Yuffie was running around in circles.

She had somehow rounded up Cid, Shera (but Shera wanted to go anyway, so Cid huffed and puffed his cigarette laced breath and said, _damn it Shera!_), Barrett (and this obviously included the ever jubilant Marlene, who then smiled grandly to Denzel, who looked at Cloud, produced a hint of stoicism, and leaned against the wall and said, _no_. But Marlene wouldn't stand for that.), Red (she even added claims that she found some particularly mindful felines he might like, but he only rolled his eyes and went back to sleeping), the ever elusive Vincent (or so she claimed. She put emphasis on the fact that he promised he would be her escort and everything. Really. _He was.) _And Reeve was supposed to go, him being the WRO commissioner and in another sense, a mayor for the other mayor who hadn't really been a mayor. (Still, she tugged on his sleeve and demanded his presence completely overbearing the environment of the room).

She stomped into Seventh Heaven, grabbed Tifa's arm, and told her all about how everyone was going and how her and Cloud could absolutely _not_ miss out on this occasion, because if they did, what kind of heroes would they be if they didn't celebrate Aerith and her lifestream miracles? I mean really, people, _come on._

Tifa laughed and smiled her acceptance without any persuasion.

Which led to...

Cloud standing in front of the bathroom mirror, looking at his dress shirt with distaste.

The only reason he was doing this _was _because Tifa had used her skills of eyelash batting and pure stubborness. Every moment she had, she would ingrain it in his mind how fun and exciting it would be to go to the ball. But it wasn't just a dance or a get together, but a celebration they should be obligated to go to. For Aerith, at least.

And, how could he turn that down?

He sighed and let himself wait downstairs for her to finish getting ready.

He eventually heard the clack of heels coming down the wooden steps. She moved through the shadows, coming out into the light in a velvety black dress. It shimmered with its natural luminosity, and it had a lightly decorated appeal. On the right side, it left her shoulder bare and stopped at mid-thigh. On the left side, it was slung around her shoulder and lengthened to a drape at her knee. It was simple, but fashionable.

And all of a sudden, Cloud felt very nervous about the party. He rubbed at his shirt cuffs and looked away.

He missed her soft smile, and she grabbed her purse off of the barstool.

"Ready?" he asked.

"More than ever," she grinned at him and started walking to the door.

"Uh, do you want--" he stopped her and held out his arm. She hooked her arm through it with surprised vigor and led the way.

--

"Johnny?"

Cloud looked up from his spot on the wall, holding his cup (yeah, _cup, _because the town obviously had no funds left) of champagne. The fizz tingled his lips like burning firework sparks.

Tifa wasn't far away, and if he concentrated, he was able to interpret everything she said. He had a clear view to watch her too. He was her escort, after all. Watching was necessary.

"Well, if it isn't Miss Tifa." A guy with dark hair entered into the view space, and he looked incredibly familiar. He had a large smile on his face, and the fizz of the champagne squelched and halted.

"It's so great to see you!" There was a pause, and a hug. "How long have you been in Edge?"

He shook his head and opened his mouth, interrupted by the start of a violin. "Actually...hang on. I have an idea."

He lightly took her hand. "Would you mind to join me for a dance?"

And Tifa beamed something gut-wrenching. "As long as you don't step on my toes."

The punk named Johnny laughed. "I'll have you know," they started to walk away, and their voices were becoming jumbled with everyone else's, "that I'm...dancing...let me show..."

Then they were gone. The champagne went flat a while back, the fireworks fused out. Cloud finished it off anyway, crinkling the plastic, tossing it to the nearest trash bin.

The Johnny name finally clicked. Cloud rolled his eyes. When had the overprotective, insecure fellow become such a flirt?

--

The waxed floors had become waning under her feet, and he felt the urge to grab her, to run away from this place of artificial glamour, so he could watch her in all of hers. But hers was real, extraordinary.

Sometimes, he would wish for her to slow down a little bit more. Sometimes, he would wish he was a little faster. His inner chase was still losing, but the dance between her and Johnny was speeding up.

"He's married, Cloud! Can you believe it?" She found him by the hors d'oeuvres, watching the once waxed, shiny dancefloor with idle examination. He looked up at her, taking in her rosy cheeks and unnaturally blushing eyes. He became a bit startled at her exclamation out of the crowd, looking at her with surprise.

But he puffed out a breath of ridiculousness. His dark, faraway eyes were coming back into focus, and the plastic cup's stark white bending lines started to fade.

"Really?"

Yet, the twisting of his gut was still there.

She nodded, grabbing a cup of punch with a ladle. "He showed me his pictures of his daughter and everything. I even met his wife."

Cloud blinked a little, connecting the dots with the woman Tifa shook hands with, the goofy visage that captured Johnny's face as they had danced. The look of pure happiness reflecting off her face from the golden light of the chandeliers, taking in his story.

"He's come such a long way. It was...I don't know," she tucked the wave of hair behind her ear, giving Cloud a precious view of her cheekbones, neck, the long line of her shoulder. He wanted to look away, but he needed to memorize the picture, just in case.

"He said I inspired him. To go out and...and be something great," she turned her head toward him, eyes glassy, lips parted in a small oval.

"Can you believe that, Cloud?" she turned away quickly, a shaky smile curving its way up. Johnny and his wife were on the dancefloor, and she let her eyes follow them and take them in.

"Yes," he said, and he kept his eyes trained on her shaky, shaky lips. She let her head slowly unlatch her eyes from the couple, and rested them on him. She looked at him, blinking, and he swallowed down her dilated pupils that were encompassing his yellow, jagged moon of hair.

Then she started to smile an atom smashing smile, and if it wasn't for the mako, Cloud knew he would have been blinded.

She stepped forward and placed her arms around his torso, and he immediately reciprocated the hug. He liked her warmth, he thought, and he didn't want to let her escape. But she did, and she was still smiling. "Thanks."

Cloud watched her, smiled just a little, and grabbed her wrist. He tipped his head to the side. "Come on," he said. "I don't like this light. It's annoying." Tifa looked at him, nonplussed, bunching her eyebrows slightly, but went along with a smile anyway.

He took her to the moogle fountain outside, and they sat down on the bench right in front of it. He gently let his hand move from her wrist to her hand, in a slow, steady manner. Tifa let her head lean on his shoulder, slowing down with the tempo of the bass, listened to the water flow and glisten.

Cloud's hand was finally finding what he was trying to catch all along.

But of course, Yuffie stole the show with her escort, and Tifa grinned when she saw, through the window, as he stepped on her toes with his long, pointy brass boots.

* * *

a . n ////  
one more chapter to go!  
a big ol' thanks to those who reviewed.  
i really love all your thoughts. :)


	4. even

a . n ////  
has it really been more than two weeks? D: time sure does fly nowadays. i'm sorry for you guys that were expecting an update so long ago. this is longer than the other ones, so i hope it doesn't disappoint! and hopefully fulfills, too.

oh, and there is a kindofreallybad word in there, so i hope nobody is offended, even though i'm not going to change the rating.

**E**—is **e**_ven_ more than anyone that you adore can—

* * *

They got back to Seventh Heaven in a flighty haze. Cloud was a bit surprised that he was able to keep himself effortlessly holding her hand, with her taking it in stride. He gave her a few looks, sometimes shy, sometimes questioning, and she'd only smile back at him.

"I don't think I've seen Yuffie laugh so hard before," she had said, her high heels clacking against the sidewalk. "Or Vincent so out of place."

Cloud smirked, rubbing a hand through his hair, "I think Vincent enjoyed it though," Tifa quirked an eyebrow at him. "For the most part."

But as they walked through the door, they parted their hands. They both headed up the stairs and bid each other goodnight, each going to their respective rooms.

As Cloud laid in his bed, he couldn't will his mind to tire. His eyes would close, but he couldn't stop feeling odd prickling sensations on his hands. They made him blink his lethargic eyes open and persuade him, torment him with an all encompassing flutter of a feeling.

He raised his hand in front of him, seeing it clearly in the midnight-washed room. The more he looked at it, it seemed, the worse the feeling got. He turned it over, but it grew larger and larger. He flexed it, but it started to crawl up his arm, touching the tip of his neck and caressing the knobs of his spine. He felt it slither down his nerve endings, giving him goosebumps, cramping up the muscles of his legs. It flirted with his toes, and he tried to wiggle them enough to make it disappear, but they only beared down upon them harder, unrelenting.

When he felt it take over the hairs of his face, making them stand up and draw out the sweat on his forehead, he felt it breach his chest. He heard his blood singing in his ears, and his heart pounded irregularly as it became covered with the icy hot coolant. He couldn't shake it, and it was driving him insane.

He sat up, wiping and rubbing at his face, and he was about to head to the bathroom when he heard his door creak silently in the background. He looked up and he could make out a dark, rounded blob peek in.

"Tifa?"

Caught, she let half of her pajama-clad figure show through the doorway. "I'm sorry Cloud, I didn't mean to wake you—" he cut her off with a shake of his head.

"'S okay. Couldn't sleep." He motioned for her to come in, and she closed the door behind her with an inaudible click.

"I couldn't sleep either." It was too dark to see her blush. "But I was thinking maybe..." she bit her lip. She glanced up at him, and gained courage at his probing glance. "I was thinking maybe it would help if I stayed in here."

He blinked a few times at her, and rubbed his hands over his eyes again. It was to mostly to clean the blurriness of his vision away, but a part, a teeny tiny part, was to hide the redness from her view.

"Uhm," he fumbled with his vocal chords. "I—" he nodded, stopping himself. He didn't have to make this be more awkward than he probably was.

She bit her lip. "I don't have to Cloud. I woke you, didn't I?" She noticed his eye rubbing. "I can go back—"

"No," he said, and she was startled by his forceful intonation. But it'd be a safe bet that he was even more.

He moved over and patted the side he left vacant. Tifa smiled a little. "Alright."

-

In Nibelheim, after Tifa fell, everything became different.

"It wasn't your fault," his mother told him that night, cradling him with her moderate, experienced hands. "It wasn't your fault, no matter what they say."

Cloud felt water leaking from his face and onto her faded blue blouse. He watched the tears soak in and scar it, turn the wet circles into stiff patches.

"Don't listen to them," she said. It was his mantra those days, watching through Tifa's window.

When her father would stomp out, tell him, "You goddamn bastard! Who said you were welcome here?" Cloud would scamper away, through the fields and the mountain, skinning his knees and bruising his cheeks. He was still praying for her to wake up, his conscience repeating _don't listen to them, don't listen to them._

_It wasn't your fault._

But her eyes opened.

_No matter what they say._

There was a burning on her face, and she could have sworn something was watching her, that whole time she was asleep, unconscious. But when she looked out the window, nobody was there.

Her father came in, redfaced, but when he saw her beautiful, earthy eyes, he smiled. "Baby, my beautiful baby! She wakes!"

She smiled at him, overwhelmed by his hugs. But as he left the room to fix her a nice, hot cup of cocoa, she touched her cheek. She looked back out the window with a hopeful glimmer to her spirit.

"It wasn't your fault, Cloud."

-

They both laid in bed, a respectable distance between the two. The atmosphere was thick, and the only noise was their slight breathing.

"Cloud?"

"..mm?"

His eyes were closed, but he was wide awake. The whole left side of his body was painfully aware of her presence right beside him, and the sensations were anything but merciful.

He felt her fingertips graze against the hand and he thought his flesh had exploded. He jerked away.

"Oh, I'm sorry—"

Cloud squinted his eyes, breathing out his nose. "No..." he said, rolling his eyes at himself and flexing his hand. "I..."

He looked over at her, catching her eye, and carefully sewed his fingers with hers, even through the burning.

-

After Cloud dropped Aerith back to her room, he looked helplessly and guilt-ridden down the hallway. He breathed in, turning his head in the direction toward his room, and then faced the opposite way, across the corridor.

He walked on the carpet until he reached the room.

_503_, the door pronounced. All of a sudden, those intense, aggravating sensations came barreling back. Cloud's stomach lurched.

He rose a tightly fisted hand and knocked on the door in a gentle, desperate way.

"Tifa?"

He didn't hear anything, so he knocked again, a little louder.

He waited a few seconds, until he finally heard a, "Coming!" and shuffles on the other side.

The door opened a crack, showing Cloud half of Tifa's face. Her eye was a little bloodshot, and she started to rub it with her hand.

"Cloud?" She pushed her hair back, giving her a better view of him. "What are you doing here?"

"Tifa. Hey," he said, scratching the back of his head. He didn't really think any farther than seeing her. "I just, uh, wanted to make sure you were sleeping well."

She opened the door all the way, giving him a skeptical, but surprised, look. "Well, as good as I can be, I guess." She glanced at him, eyebrows rising up. "Want to come in?"

"No, no," he waved his hand. "Thanks though. I just wanted to let you know," he stopped himself, taking in her partly withdrawn face.

"Tifa—" he watched her furrow her brows and rub her eyes. "Sorry, I shouldn't have woken you." He turned to face down the hallway. "I'll leave—"

But her smile interrupted his sentence. "No Cloud, it's fine. I wasn't," she hesitated, "s_leeping_, really. Honest," she added when she saw his gaze. "So—what did you want to tell me?"

At her question, he blinked, and almost took a step back. "Uh..." he rubbed his neck and placed his weight on his heels. "I just—wanted to check up on you, and see if you were .. okay." He furrowed his brows as he said it, and it could have passed for a question instead of a statement.

Yet, her eyes became just little bit whiter and just little bit brighter.

"I'm alright. Thanks," she said it slowly, she showed him a soft smile.

And when he left and she closed the door, she didn't think she'd have a problem going to sleep anymore.

--

When he woke up, all he saw was her.

Her mouth was partly open, showing the tips of her teeth. The slated lines of morning light glinted on her hair and changed the strands auburn. The lines of her face were nonexistent, and she looked peaceful, content. Her breathing was languid and deep, and they caressed his face.

It wasn't fair that it smelled sweet and fresh, and it didn't have that morning, humid grossness.

He felt a pressure in his right hand, and he belatedly realized they were still holding hands.

Her hand twitched, and then squeezed his with sleepy effort. And that tiny squeeze sent a jet through his veins, making his blood rush down numerous, marked roadways only to come back around again. When it did sizzle back, it scorched down his forearm and burned into his skin.

He started hearing noises, and he took his eyes off their hands and back to Tifa. She started to move around, arching her back in a drowsy stretch. She let out a gust of air and sank back down into the mattress.

It was then she lifted her eyelids, raising the hand that wasn't holding his, and wiped at her eyes. Her eyes peeked through her lashes and landed on him, and she let her hand drape across the blanket. The right side of her face was half hidden by the pillow, but he could still see the line of her mouth turn upward just a bit.

He remembered that little girl lying in her bed. It was hard to realize how much he admired her through that foggy window. How much he regretted all the things he didn't _have_ to do.

"Mornin'," she said, bleary.

And then his thoughts fast-forwarded, to the time at Gold Saucer, and how her face was obscured by the door. She looked so fragile.

"Hey," it came out gruff and tight. He swallowed to soothe his throat, but it only made it drier. Her mouth became straight.

"Cloud, you okay?" Her eyebrows raised a bit. She reached out and touched his cheek. "You look kind of..."

He breathed out at her touch.

There was just something about them—the light flecks of her fingertips, the smoothness of her hand—they all made his pulse quicken, his mind race.

He remembered sitting under her bedroom window, listening to the music she would play. Those fingers connecting with pretty, pretty notes, pushing them out into the night sky, letting them touch the stardust, making them magical.

And he felt the tempo crescendo, but the memory faded away. They were still in his bedroom, but the music was thrumming against his mind. Something was changing.

"Cloud?" Her hand brushed his forehead, and his pupils dilated. "Oh, hey, you're burning—"

Something...

She squeaked, caught off guard and unsuspecting. Cloud found himself looking down at her, her hair splayed upon the pillow like paint. "Tifa."

She let her eyes graze his mouth as he said her name, and he couldn't hold up.

He kissed her, without hesitation, without breaks. And even though his lips were pushing and pulling against hers, he had gone deaf. He didn't know anything except her music.

So he stopped abruptly, and lifted his head again. It was only then that he felt her hands across his shoulder blades, and he saw her half-lidded look and strawberry swollen lips. She insistently tugged him back down, legs squirming a bit under his weight, and he tasted her energy, her love.

And he thought, over the c-sharps and the e-flats, there wasn't a better time to show her his love, too.

* * *

thanks for reading! i hope everyone enjoyed it.  
merry christmas and happy holidays!~


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